


Ryan Damion

by RyanDamion



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depressing, Depression, It's Not Going To Be Happy, Just An Excuse To Post Messy Things, Mental Health Issues, Messy, Messy Writing, More tags to be added, Music, Probably Lots of Music, Self-Harm, Straight From My Head, Suicide, These Aren't Edited, They Aren't Supposed To Be Perfect, mental health, unfinished works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyanDamion/pseuds/RyanDamion
Summary: This is just a collection of some of my work that's either too short to be a independent story or that would be too much of a mess to edit but I still want to share. Most (all) of it will be really bad, but I'd still love feedback and comments; they really help me as a writer.





	1. Looking Through a Smudged Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote on a scrap of paper at a restaurant earlier. I like it, but it wouldn't be as good if I edited it (or I think so, anyway). It doesn't have a specific "meaning", so interpret it as you like. I thought it up as I was looking through a smudged glass and decided to write it down. The song I'd associate with this chapter is Pour Me by Hollywood Undead. I think it captures the feeling and simultaneously conveys the physical aspects. Yeah, that sentence doesn't make sense to me either. Listen to the song; you'll get it.

The room has a quiet spin to it, listing back and forth gently like it's conspiring against me. I try to blink, to clear away the dense, muddling fog in my head. The image of the room sharpens a bit, but the shadows and mushy edges start to giggle mockingly at my attempts to get rid of them. The sound blurs together to create a symphony of toxic buzzing in my ears. I squint my eyes in aversion to the sound, but that only serves to make the blur around reality worse.

A dull ache begins to make itself known in my head, the foot gently tapping at the inside of my head. I sit up, still feeling groggy and disconcerted. A twinge in my hand prompts me to look down at the offending appendage. The knuckles are a dark brownish red, and there are spots and flecks of blue-black scattered like marbles across them. I wonder briefly how they got there before remembering that I had a friendly fight with the door.

_Must've hit harder than I meant to._

I set my feet down on the cold hardwood floor and stand up. The realization that I'm on the floor takes a couple seconds to sink in. I look up at the bed and I realize I don't know how I managed to get there last night. The room spins around me and I giggle, closing my eyes and trying not to vomit.

I don't know how long I stay on the floor, but it's long enough for what little of the sun I can see through the blacked out windows to cross to the other side of the room. I decide to try walking again and push myself to my feet. The room sways, the blurry outlines of the world taunting me as I grab onto the door.

The fuzzy and not-quite-there door _feels_ real and solid enough as I turn the knob. I have to cling to the door as it swings open so as not to have another chat with the floor. I carefully push the door open and make my way out into the hallway. I make my way through the hallway, which is much longer and steeper than I remember, by clinging to the walls as I force my legs to move. It's hard to walk, so I let the momentum from the swaying of the world propel me through the tunnel.

I manage to come to a stop at the top of the staircase just in time, saving myself from the small yet unpleasant fall. I cling to the wall as I make my way down the stairs. The feeling of falling sounds like fun, but something convinces me to keep my feet planted firmly upon the ground I make it to the last step and manage to only stumble a little bit as I slip off the fuzzy edge of the stair.

I slide down to rest on the cold cynical floor, my grip on the slippery wall weakened by the breathless giggle that forces its way out of my lungs. It occurs to me that I have no reason for coming downstairs, and I'm lost again in a fit of giggles.

_I went through all that trouble for...Nothing. No reason at all. Just for the hell of it._

The buzzing from the mocking shadows send sharp pain through my head as the blurry mess of reality stabs at my eyes. The foot is now kicking with full force at the inside of my head, and I don't know what to do, but my brain says to laugh, so I do because it's better than just laying in a puddle on the floor feeling sorry for myself. The pain from the hands attached to my arms blends in smoothly with the pain from all over my body that I guess I didn't notice before. 

The giggles turn into a cough, deep and probably a sign of some other diagnose-able state that requires meds, and I just give in to the coughing for a moment before the lack of oxygen sends me into another fit of hysterical giggles. The shadows black out my vision, but I'm not mad, I'm just tired and grateful for sleep.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song(s): Pour Me-Hollywood Undead
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd really appreciate if you could leave me a comment telling me what you think. Thank you and happy holidays!  
> -Ryan


	2. Passive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song Passive by A Perfect Circle

The room is filled with air, and yet I’m struggling to breathe. The too sharp lines and angles poke at my eyes as I try to block it all out.

The sharp noise of the machine grinds at my ears, wearing down on my brain. I can’t focus, not like this. It’s too hard to ignore the sharp clang of metal on metal as the mechanical beast stumbles around in the darkness. I’m blinded by the lack of sight, but I’m left to watch, helpless, as the beast snatches up the young, the vulnerable, the free; whoever it can find. It reprograms them, fits them in as gears among every other once-human that has fallen victim to the machine’s large claws and razor blades. The ones who fight are reconstructed, shattered into a billion pieces on the floor and cemented back together with a carefully controlled mind.  

I need to move, to run, but I’m frozen in place by some unknown force. I feel a scream, or maybe it’s a sob, building in my lungs, trapped inside my throat by a mouth sewn shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short and stupid. I wrote and posted this in class, so there are probably some errors. I know it's shit, but comments and feedback is always appreciated.  
> Song(s): Passive-A Prefect Circle


	3. Why I'm No Good at Being in a Writing Group

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some thoughts bouncing around in my head... Maybe if I get them out here then they'll stop bothering me...

Maybe I should leave the group.

Everybody else is pulling their wight and I haven't been active in weeks.

I'm supposed to participate; it's not school.

I want to do it.

I just _can't._

I can't find the words to give feedback without sounding like I'm an immature writer who's doing it unprofessionally.

_Oh wait._

I really want to be active and give feedback.

I want their advice on how to be better.

I'm just too busy trying not to scream because I'm dealing with what's probably multiple undiagnosed emotional disorders.

_That's right, keep coming up with more of your **bullshit** excuses._

_Nobody wants to hear you bitch about your fucking first world problems and self-diagnosed disorders._

_Hell, you don't even have readers._

_You can't even offer them feedback other than "I really liked what you did in this chapter", and "Maybe you could use more detail"._

_You've been doing this for almost a year and you have hardly done anything.  
_

_And you're so fucking socially awkward._

 

Well I won't deny it.

But maybe I'll keep doing it for a while.

Just a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song(s): Build a Wall by Art of Dying  
> Hurt-Nine Inch Nails  
> Even Though I Say-Saint Asonia  
> Demons-Get Scared  
> Medicine-Daughter


	4. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm posting this in class, so it's probably not great.

The pencil scratches out tiny screams of agony, pulled across the paper in the silence of the room.

The heartbeat-drumbeat beats fast, fast enough to make the world go out of focus.

It's blurry, but it's not gone for good.

The demons packed tightly in the coffin-room are silent, but they watch every move with an agonizing malevolence.

Panic binds the lungs, tightens impossibly around the chest.

The pencil is forced down upon the paper with the suffocating wight of six feet of dirt

It's screaming sobs draw the demons closer.

Their eyes are hungry as the tear falls to the paper.

The words smudge slightly where the all-consuming ocean washes over them.

Starry skies fall from teary eyes as the walls sway and collapse, crumbling to cage the demons and their prey under the stone.

The gasping breaths increase in pace as the heartbeat-drumbeat of the war drums fills the ears until

_Silence_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song(s): Bleeding Out-Imagine Dragons  
> Blue-a Perfect Circle  
> Human Race-Three Days Grace


End file.
